


Grant Me Wings That I Might Fly

by winterfirehair



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Break Up, Graphic Suicide, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Drugged Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Nudes, Pregnancy Scares, Rape Aftermath, Trans Male Character, Trans Victor Criss, Unhealthy Relationships, Unprotected Sex, Vomiting, forced cheating, thoughts of abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfirehair/pseuds/winterfirehair
Summary: There is no need for a suicide note. Not that he would've known what to write anyways.
Relationships: Henry Bowers/Victor Criss, Victor Criss & Reginald "Belch" Huggins, Victor Criss/Patrick Hockstetter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. One

Victor isn't exactly sure why he feels the need to confront Henry. Maybe it's because he hopes that talking to somebody will help him. Maybe it's because he loves Henry, he truly loves him and certainly didn't mean for this to happen, didn't want this to happen. He didn't want to wake up in a wrong bed, neither his nor Henry's. He definitely didn't want to wake up next to Patrick Hockstetter, his brain all fuzzy, with no real knowledge how he got there and an almost unbearable ache in his lower body.

He knows that ache. It's worse than ever before, but he knows it, has felt it before when Henry had been in a particularly bad mood and decided to blow off some steam using his boyfriend. It's not that Vic really minds it; he doesn't get off on it and it isn't exactly nice, but it usually helps Henry calm down and most times he checks on Vic afterwards, asking him if he hurt him. He even apologizes if he did. Henry isn't a bad kid, he just doesn't really know how to express his feelings in an appropriate manner. He never learned that and Vic knows, he knows it better than anyone. He knows Henry better than anyone. Which is why he probably hopes for some kind of understanding if he tells him. A lot of rage, of course, but he's going to take that out on Hockstetter and finally kick that creep out of the gang. They're not friends anyways.

So he thinks, as he drags his naked body out of the bed. He violently flinches and his blood runs cold when he stands and feels some fluid run down his legs. Bringing a hand down between them where his flesh is tender and used he tenses as more fluid covers his fingers. And when he sees that it's clearly another men's release that's smeared to his skin and steadily leaks out of his desecrated body, he feels the panic attack lurking underneath. Patrick didn't even bother to use protection.

The latter begins to move behind him, and when Vic slowly turns around he's met with a lazy grin.

"Good morning princess. I didn't think you'd be up this early."

The blond doesn't answer. He stares at Patrick, his face not showing any emotion at all. He can't even bring himself to care about the fact that Patrick's eyes wander over his naked appearance, a certain hunger in them. As if he's not satisfied with what he already got.

"Why?" he finally manages to ask. He can't tell if he whispered or shouted it, and Patrick's reaction is merely a shrug.

"It was fun."

Fun. Vic almost laughs. Of course it was fun. It's always fun for Patrick. It's fun for him to torture people, to touch them without their consent, to scare them and hurt them. All just for fun.

Numbly, he grabs his clothes from the floor and gets dressed. He can still feel Patrick's eyes on him, but to his surprise the dark-haired teen doesn't do anything but look. He's not sure why, but he tries not to think about Hockstetter's motives. You've got to be crazy yourself to understand someone like him.

Patrick doesn't say anything else, even when he leaves. He's glad he doesn't, because the panic attack is still lurking in the back of his mind and he feels like he's about to throw up.

It's cold outside, too cold for the thin zip jacket he's wearing over his T-Shirt and binder. Goosebumps form on his arms and he rubs them to warm himself up a bit. For once he's somewhat glad Henry's living outside of town, because the walk will warm him up. The cold air also helps him to think more clearly, to sort his thoughts. He's still sure Henry will understand. He didn't cheat on him. Patrick did something to him, something horrible, and Henry will understand. He knows Vic loves him more than anything.

He's almost calm when he reaches the driveway and passes the Bowers' red mailbox, which is still standing on a crooked post from when Henry hit it trying to drive Amy a few months ago. Reggie never really forgave him for the dent and scratches that the incident left, but that was nothing in comparison to Butch's fury over the whole thing. It took weeks for the wounds on Henry's back to finally heal.

The Trans Am standing in front of the house startles him a little. It's still early morning, usually Reggie wouldn't come around until noon or early afternoon.

They're both on the veranda, Henry smoking a cigarette, which he drops as he jumps up as soon as he spots the blond.

"You!"

Vic freezes on the spot at the pure rage Henry's face is showing as their leader storms over to him. 

"You got a lot of nerve coming back here you slut!"

Henry pushes him, hard, and Vic stumbles back. He certainly didn't expect this, doesn't even know how to react to his furious boyfriend.

"Henry, what -"

"Shut the fuck up!"

He does. Eyes wide open, Vic stares at Henry, whose face is almost beet red. It would've been somewhat funny, if the anger wasn't directed towards him.

"I should've known. You're just another dumb bitch ready to spread her legs for the first guy that comes along."

Henry pushes him again and this time Vic falls, hitting the ground painfully. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Reggie stand up, clearly worried but not yet ready to intervene.

"Was he good? You wanna be his little bitch now?" Henry hisses like an angry cat. Vic's never before seen him like this and even though he tries to push the feeling aside, he's scared. He doesn't understand. How does Henry know?

"You don't understand, Henry," he whispers, clearly shocked, "I... How do you even -"

"How do I know?" Henry sneers. He takes out his phone, unlocks it and shoves it in Vic's face.

It takes Vic a moment to realize that he's looking at a picture of himself. Himself, stark naked, his chest and thighs littered with bite marks and dark hickeys. He's looking right into the camera, a soft smile on his lips. Something about the picture is wrong, he's clearly not really there and his pupils are incredibly dilated, but Henry doesn't seem to see that.

Suddenly he understands why Patrick didn't try to touch him again this morning. This wasn't just about him getting a piece of Vic, this was just Patrick being in a mood to wreak havoc within their group. It's really that simple.

"Henry, let me explain," he chokes out, getting on his feet. Cautiously he approaches the other teen, like he would with an animal. He doesn't want to upset him more than he already is. Vic knows he's hurt.

"Do not fucking touch me, slut."

Vic swallows audibly. Henry knows he hates those slurs, which means he's clearly intending to hurt Vic. That's always Henry's defense mechanism. Hurt them before they can hurt you more.

"I won't. Just - Just listen to me, please."

He sees how Henry grits his teeth. It's obvious the teen wants to listen, to hear that his boyfriend did not really cheat on him with Patrick Hockstetter of all people. He loves Vic, after all. He's never truly been in love before, but the small blond owns his heart. It makes the apparent betrayal even more hurtful, and that's a feeling Henry can't properly deal with.

His fist collides with Vic's cheekbone and knocks the smaller teen to the ground with a surprised, pained cry.

Henry has never hit him before. Sure, they fought, but Henry never used this kind of violence against him. That was his father's way. Henry doesn't want to be like Butch. It's the one thing he's afraid of.

Shocked, the blond touches the side of his face where Henry's fist struck him. It hurts, and he can feel it starting to swell already, but that's nothing compared to the feeling of betrayal.

The look on Henry's face, however, is even worse. He looks just as shocked as Vic and his hands are shaking.

"H-Henry?"

Vic hates how weak his voice sounds, but he can't help it right now. Looking up at his boyfriend, his cheek swelling and his wide eyes filled with tears, he looks like a child more than ever. He's always been small compared to the other gang members.

Henry grinds his teeth, struggling with himself. He wants to apologize, to help Vic up and hug him and tell him he's sorry, that he's never going to hurt him again. He wants to hold the blond close and protect him. Just like he always does.

But on the other hand, it feels like it was the right thing to hit him. It felt good. It seems to him that it was justified to hit his cheating boyfriend.

His misguided side wins the fight. Just like it always does when Henry is cornered. It's just easier to bite.

"I want you to go. Fuck off. Go and be Hockstetter's bitch for all I care. You're out of the gang, both of you."

"Henry, just listen to me!" 

"I said fuck off!" 

"Henry, maybe you should -" Reginald tries to finally intervene, but it only takes a murderous look from Henry to shut him up. Vic almost pities him, he clearly wants to do something, anything, but at this point there's not really anything he can do.

Henry turns to Vic again, who scrambles to his feet. Against better judgment he reaches out for him, but Henry slaps his hand away.

"I said don't touch me."

They look at each other for a moment before Henry turns away. Again, Vic reaches out, this time grabbing Henry's shoulder. He can feel how the older teen tenses, struggling, battling his emotions.

"Henry, please," he almost begs, "I didn't... he rap-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Henry's shout echoes through the cold morning air, making both Reggie and Vic flinch. There doesn't seem to be another noise after that, as if even the slight breeze just stopped. Vic doesn't dare to breathe.

"Go."

His voice is calm, too calm, when Henry finally speaks up again. Calm and silent and _broken_. And all of them know that this is the end.

Neither Vic nor Reginald stop Henry from going inside, slamming the door shut.

Reggie drives the blond home after that. They are silent during the rather short drive, Vic numbly staring out of the window, but when they stop in front of his parent's house, Reginald turns off the engine and sighs.

"Are you okay?"

There's no answer from Vic, but he doesn't just get out of the car either. It's warm in there. He wants to avoid the cold breeze outside just a little longer.

"Listen, I know you're upset enough Vic, but... you know you can talk to me, right? About everything."

Vic knows what he's talking about. Reggie knows Patrick. He doesn't have to guess what happened, what the blond tried to say when Henry cut him off. He's just afraid to ask more precisely. How the hell do you ask your friend if he's been raped without being insensitive about it?

Feeling Reggie watching him, the blond forces a weak smile.

"I'm okay, Reggie."

"It's okay if you're not though."

Vic bites his lip. Some part of him just wants to cry on Reginald's shoulder, let everything out. However, the more defensive and reserved part of him is stronger.

"I just need a shower and some rest. That's all."

"I can stay with you if you want. Keep you company. Help you patch up your cheek. Maybe just... distract you," Reggie tries again. He doesn't even know why he's got a bad feeling about leaving Vic alone right now. It's not just because of the fight with Henry or whatever happened with Patrick, something about the blond is just off.

"I appreciate that, Reggie. I really do. But... I just need to be by myself for a while."

"... Okay," the other teen sighs, clearly not satisfied with the outcome. Vic opens the door and hisses at the sudden rush of cold air.

"See you tomorrow," Vic gently promises, and his friend nods. He watches Vic climb the stairs to his front door, opening it and entering the house, and starts the engine when the door falls shut.

The air in his car doesn't warm up again after the blond left, even though the heating is set to the highest setting.


	2. Two

Vic hesitantly pushes a few of the incredibly small pills around on the palm of his hand. They don't look like much, but he knows they got it in them. One of them knocks him out for a few hours, he knows that for sure. There were enough nights in which he kept tossing and turning and ended up swallowing one of the little pills to finally get some sleep.

One for a good night's rest. There are about fifty of the little fuckers on his palm.

A dry hiccup escapes his throat. He's been crying for hours. Henry won't answer his calls and he's blocked him on any social media. And then there's the panic, the fear that maybe, just maybe, his body will betray him even further and that Patrick's seed may start something in him. He knows there's medication for that, some tiny thing you can take afterwards if you're afraid something might've happened. It's quick. Easy. He just hopes this will be easier.

The pills are small, but still he decides to split up the amount he's got on his hand up so he won't have a full mouth of pills to swallow in one go. He swallows the first half of them down with some water and winces at the feeling of pills sticking to his throat, so he drinks some more. The second half of them doesn't go down as easy, he has to fill up his cup twice to finally wash all of them down. Anxiety sets in - was that really enough to end him? He pours some more pills on his palm. Swallows them. Drinks some more water.

He's not feeling anything yet, but he knows he's got about twenty minutes for them to show their effect, even though he doesn't know what this effect will look like. He knows one pill makes him sleepy, but this is an overdose. He was too scared to read about it on the internet. All he hopes is that it'll work, and maybe that there won't be pain.

There is no need for a suicide note. Not that he would've known what to write anyways. This life just isn't for him. He doesn't know how to live this life, struggling with his mental health, with his sexuality, his gender identity. Not to mention the expectations of his parents who barely accepted him as trans. He doesn't know where he wants to go, doesn't know if he'd be strong enough to reach any goals he might would've set his eyes on if he wasn't about to kill himself. He doesn't know how to explain that feeling of being misplaced in the world to anyone. Henry - Henry understood him. They both never had any real place in the world. But Henry's gone, out of his reach, and Vic is left alone in the void, spinning and unable to get himself out alone.

He uses the time to change into comfortable clothes. They don't belong to him; both the hoodie and the sweatpants are Henry's. He left them here a few nights ago, knowing Vic likes to wear his stuff around home, and even though he never said so, he thinks it's cute when the blond does it. And Vic just likes how Henry's clothes are a little to big on him, how they smell of cheap aftershave and cigarettes. It's grounding him a little.

When he lies down on his bed he notices that his fingertips are numb. Curiously, he rubs them together, pinches them, but the pain is dull, not really there. It's vaguely familiar, the same feeling one has when getting a local anaesthetic at the dentist. It slowly spreads, starting in his fingertips and toes, steadily numbing his fingers and feet. He starts to shake when the room appears to get colder, tries to pull his covers over himself, but he doesn't manage to get them over his body entirely.

Exhausted, he closes his eyes and concentrates on following the numb feeling that's creeping through his body. Goosebumps spread over his skin.

He's about to drift away when the pain hits. His stomach cramps and he whines in pure agony, before throwing himself to the side and vomiting on the carpet next to his bed. The biting, chemical smell makes his eyes water and his lips burn where they're smeared with vomit. Another wave follows, the pain so bad he feels like he's about to pass out.

"Henry..." he gasps out, his eyes wild. He knows he's alone, his parents are at work and Henry's not here. But it hurts so badly, and he's afraid.

"Henry!"

His scream is filled with agony, ringing in his ears. Tears cascade down his face while he claws at the soft skin of his stomach. "Henry!"

With his throat burning from throwing up and screaming, his loud wailing soon dies down to weak sobs. He tries grabbing his phone, to call Henry, or Reggie, or anyone really, but it falls out of his numb fingers. He can't unlock it anyways, unable to type in his password. Eventually he gives up and leaves his phone lying on his chest.

Breathing hurts. His stomach is still cramping, and he throws up again, this time unable to move. Vomit bubbles out of his mouth, bile and half-dissolved pills, making it almost impossible to breathe. He panics, feeling like he might choke on his own vomit, but after a few tries he manages to at least spit most of it out so it runs down his chin. It hurts where it burns into his soft skin.

He stares at the ceiling, dazedly. The room is getting bigger, then smaller again to the point where it physically feels like it's crushing him. The pain is everywhere and it's unbearable. He never wished so much to just lose consciousness, but his body just doesn't give in yet.

Eventually, he looses control over his bladder. Warm urine seeps into his shorts, his sweatpants and the mattress underneath. Maybe, he thinks in dull amusement, he should've gone to the toilet before. A weak chuckle escapes his burnt throat.

It takes some more time before he finally feels his eyes sliding shut despite the pain. His heartbeat has been unsteady for some minutes already, skipping beats here and there. At this point, the anxiety is as unbearable as the pain. He still wants it all to end, but does he truly wish to die? Is he really able to let go? It's too late now, he knows that. No one knows he's here, in his room which is reeking of vomit and piss, dying alone. There's no help coming. He's slipping away.

Again, his heart skips a beat. It reminds him of Reggie's Trans Am on cold winter days, striking to start, the engine stuttering. Now it's his heart that's stuttering. Trying to fight against the overdose, but losing.

When it ends, it's sudden. His last breath parts his lips. His body cramps painfully for the last time, and his heart skips another beat. It doesn't continue beating. Vic lies still.

The phone on his motionless chest starts vibrating and Henry's picture appears on the screen.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: [winterfirehair](https://winterfirehair.tumblr.com)


End file.
